


Best Christmas ever

by thewallflower07



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock-Freeform, M/M, Post Mary, Post Season 3, Torture, mary is evil, whump!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewallflower07/pseuds/thewallflower07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Sherlock and John are finally together and Mary is gone, both are looking forward to a peaceful Christmas party with their friends. But this wish seems to be far away when a drug gang kidnaps Sherlock to use him as a hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Christmas ever

 

London is beautiful in the winter’s months, especially in the early mornings. A few sunbeams shine on the Themse, the water sparkles. The sky is bathed in red and purple.

A body lies on the cold stones at the shore of the river. The water runs to his hips. He is huddled, his face is very pale. With every tiny breath white clouds can be seen.

His face is pale, bloodless. The black jeans and the grey hoodie are ripped.

Blood swims in the water.

 

The man is bleeding. There is a small wound on his back, blood is oozing his dark curls red. Another wound must be on his side, but it’s hard to see in the water.

He has eye bags and is way too thin, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

The whole picture is disturbing and yet it fit perfectly in the grey but beautiful winter morning.

It’s about 2 or 3° C over 0°, a bit warm for the day before christmas.

5 o’clock. No one is here.

Suddenly, one arm of the man moves. His eyes open slightly, only for a moment. They are grey-blue-green. They close again.   
The man is shivering again, his teethes chattering.   
He moves his fingers to the pocket of his hoodie. With an agonising stretch of his fingers he drags a battered phone out. He presses and the phone vibrates for a moment, then stops again. The man sighs and closes his eyes.

 

It’s 6:10 o’clock when something finally happens.  
A black, official looking car stops with screeching brakes. The wheels are still turning when a door opens and another man jumps out, carrying a medical bag.   
Blue Jeans, a jacket, army like, totally normal. Totally ordinary.  
The doctor tries to scream something, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He runs to the body, still lying on the cold and hard stones.   
He stops in front of the man, one hand flying to his neck, checking for his pulse. Meanwhile another man gets out of the car. He looks rather posh, wearing a suite and carrying an umbrella. He watches the doctor and the unconscious man while he slowly comes closer, swinging his umbrella. He and the injured man look rather alike, it’s a surprise that the posh man doesn’t seem to look more worried.

The doctor rubs his hand against the man cheeks, loudly calling his name: „Sherlock, Sherlock! Wake up now, come on!“

The man, Sherlock, slowly moves his head into the doctor’s palm. 

„That’s right, Sherlock. Just open your eyes now!“

Sherlock’s eyelashes flutter, then his mysterious eyes crack open.

„Jjjjj-ohn?“ 

It’s more a sound than a word, but the doctor recognises it nonetheless. He exhales shakily. 

„Let’s get you out of here.“ He stands up again, tries to at least, but Sherlock clings to the doctor’s hand and shakes his head panicky. His lips are moving again, but this time, no sound can be heard.

„I’m not going away, love. Don’t worry.“

John lifts his head and watches the posh man approach. 

„Can we handle this alone or should I call an ambulance?“ 

„I don’t think hospital would be good for him now. He should be at Baker Street.“ 

John cowers down again and loops his arms under Sherlock’s shoulders. Slowly he drags him out the cold water and hisses when he sees the still bleeding wound on his side. Sherlock groans.

Without missing a beat John lifts Sherlock up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. Sherlock’s head falls on his shoulder.

„Let’s go home.“

 

 

 

 

It’s the 17th of December, one week before christmas. The first one they will really spend together again. Last year didn’t end so well, after all, with John going back to Mary and Sherlock alone in prison for shooting Magnussen.

Even the christmas before that was rather dreadful, with Mary, John and Sherlock celebrating at Baker Street. After dinner, Mary and John went to their house in the suburbs and Sherlock was alone. 

It’s better not to remember the two christmases when Sherlock was away. The first time Sherlock didn’t even notice the date, since he was hiding in a safe house somewhere in Canada, in such a small town with elderly people who mostly ignored him.   
John was sitting in a small flat without any decorations, drowning himself in alcohol.

The second christmas Sherlock was in Moscow, the whole night searching for the head of a drug company. John had a date with Mary and they had sex for the first time.   
The only christmas they ever celebrated together was the one where Sherlock insulted Molly, John lost a girlfriend and Irene faked her death. 

This all sounds terrible and it really was terrible.

 

So this christmas was supposed to be different.  
It all started on the 6th of December when John began to decorate the flat. Sherlock only watched him and didn’t comment on his action, but in the afternoon he stopped reading his book about beekeeping and helped his partner. John quietly sang „Last Christmas“ and the detective snorted. He couldn’t help himself, but the text was really to perfect for their whole situation.

When he heard his laugh John abruptly stopped singing and Sherlock was worried that the doctor wouldn’t take it so easy, but after a few moments, John started laughing too.

Their laughter always sound so amazing together, even after all these years.

 

Sherlock was just about to put a star on the horns of their antler, when suddenly John was there, wrapped his arms around the detectives hips, so fast that Sherlock let a high squiiick out and pushed him on the sofa. 

They lingered there for a moment. John lay directly on Sherlock and caressed his cheek.   
Sherlock Holmes whole body was tingling, every sense was filled with John. He smelled like tea and jumpers and biscuits. His fingers wandered to his lips. John’s blue eyes were directly on his green-grey ones. The doctor silently asked him for his permission and Sherlock nodded. 

His heart was beating so fast, his hands were sweating when John’s lips finally touched his.

 

The next days were like a wonderful dream. John was constantly by his side, even more so than before. The constant touches grounded him, he felt safe with the army doctor.

They got a lot of well wishes, especially from Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson (who also told them to please keep the noises down, she isn’t the youngest one anymore). Lestrade already asked if their would be another christmas party at Baker Street again and John said spontaneously yes.

But before all that they have to solve the case.

 

It’s 21:00 o’clock on the 18 of December and there was a street battle, like on of these in this stupid movies John always likes to watch.

The drug group was on the one side, hiding behind dustbins, the yard crouching behind their cars.   
The men from the drug gang constantly shoot in their direction, one of the sergeants was already hit in the leg, John was helping him. In the middle of all this shouting and shooting Sherlock knocked on Lestrades shoulder.

He was just about to tell him to leave and try to attack on another place when the leader of the group throws a sort of mini bomb.

It hits the police car that begins to burn immediately. The group runs forward, a sergeant tries to fire, but Lestrade grabs his arm and screams: „RUN!“

The detective inspector wants to push Sherlock too, but he jumps instead back to the car. The mobile phone of the leader was still in there, where everything of their plans was written down. It’s their most important evidence and Sherlock didn’t search through the sewerage to find it by losing it now.

„Sherlock! Come here, NOW!“

The gang was nearly there, Sherlock could identify their faces.   
Suddenly strong arms turned his whole body and practical drags him away.

„What the hell are you doing?“, John screamed angry in his ear.

„I have to find the phone!“, Sherlock coughed. The smell of the burning car was nauseating.

Sherlock felt a stinging punch on his right leg. He went down without a sound and John was already 20 metres away when he noticed that his partner was gone.  
The doctor turned around, horrified.   
„Sher-!“

The bomb that followed coloured the world red.

 

 

  
The world was grey when his eyes opened again. The whole street was covered with ash. The houses were nearly destroyed completely. His leg still burned again, his head was ringing and the few screams he could hear were muffled.  
They seemed to call his name or at least he believed they did.

Slowly, he turned his aching head to the other side. The gang members were searching through the street, turning stones and planks.

The air was still grey and there was smoke everywhere, so maybe if he could get up now he wouldn’t get caught.

Sherlock tried to, he really did. But his injured leg always bent away before he could move a foot. He groaned, furious with himself. The only consulting detective in the world was caught by a group of maybe brutal, but not so clever drug dealer.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back to their formerly street corner. Sherlock tripped because of his leg, but the men only laughed.   
To safe a bit of his dignity he bit one of his captors in his arm, he tasted blood and smiled satisfied. A hard punch brought him into unconsciousness again.

Looks like another not so good christmas is coming, was Sherlock’s last thought.

 

 

Waking up to an entirely new situation was getting tedious, Sherlock thought, when someone slapped him in the face, hard.

„Wake up.“ , a very deep voice, probably the leader, ordered. 

Sherlock opened his eyes, but his sight was still blurred.   
The man hit him again, even harder this time.   
He laughed when he noticed Sherlock’s angry glance. 

„You are asking yourself why we took you.“

The detective only snorted, like he did in his flat, all these days ago.

  
„No, I don’t. I was the only one still there, so of course you took me.“

The leader laughed: „The great Sherlock Holmes has made a mistake!“

The man saw his surprised face.

„Yes, we know who you are, Sherly.“ 

Sherlock pulled a grimace. He hated it when they used stupid nicknames. 

„All this protection from your brother, Scotland Yard and your hideous boyfriend didn’t help you. We still got you.“

„I noticed.“ , Sherlock answered dry.

He earned a kick against his leg. 

„Shut up queer!“

„Sir! We need to talk with you!“

„I’m coming.“

The man left, with one last mocking smile in his prisoners direction.

 

Finally Sherlock was able to watch his situation. His hands were cuffed behind a pipe, his legs also where bind. He pushed agains the rope and handcuffs, but there was no give. Otherwise the room was empty and dark.

He didn’t know how many hours had passed since the leader of the drug gang left. His feet and hands were numb from the cuffs. Sherlock wondered where John and Lestrade were. Surely they had noticed that he wasn’t buried in the rubble anymore?

He could hear footsteps again. Without warning he was hit in the stomach. Sherlock gasped,arched his back. The man punched him twice more and the last breath was stolen from his lungs.

„We need you as a hostage, so that they let us out of the country. And I promised Chief to rough you a bit up.“

The man grabbed his hair and dragged Sherlock up again. The consulting detective winced.  
More footsteps. Two other man, rather huge, maybe twins, Sherlock couldn’t see straight, since his first captor was shaking him rather violently.

„Hey, Steve! Don’t start without us.“ 

The other man laughed and added: „I heard he is quite a handful.“

Steve snickered and drove his fingers rough through his curls. 

„Maybe we should have taken someone else. Maybe his friends don’t even want him back.“

Now all three of them laughed. The noises were drowning Sherlock. Suddenly they opened his handcuffs on his hands and feet. The detective tried to punch Steve, but one of the twins was holding his arms together, so instead of using his hands he kicked the other twin in the stomach. The man coughed and doubled over. Sherlock wriggled himself free and started to run. He was already at the door, when suddenly the leader of the group and two his guards were there. They lounged at him and he fell to the ground, feeling rather dizzy. Damn, he nearly made it!

„What the hell is going on here!“ , the leader screamed angrily.

Steve and the twins look ashamed to the ground.

„I guess I have to do everything by myself.“ The man gesticulated to his two guards and they dragged Sherlock up again and in the middle of the room. 

Three of the man detained him while the other two pulled his arms up. They were cuffed together again and another chain was hooked on the cuffs and fixed to a hook on the ceiling. Sherlock guessed what is going to happen and tried to push his captors away, but they only hold him tighter. Steve crouched down and cuffed his feet back together. 

When the man were finished they stepped back and admired their work. Their leader nodded, satisfied. Then he opened his phone camera and clicked on play.

Steve and the two twins went behind the detective and grabbed the chain.   
The leader with the camera began to speak: „You won’t arrest us or in any way stop us on our way to Scotland. As soon as we arrive safely in this country we will let your queer friend go. To show how serious we are, we will now give you a little taste of what is going to happen to him otherwise.“ He nodded to his men: „You can start now.“

With a grunt the man slowly lifted the chain and Sherlock was lifted from the ground. Already after a few seconds breathing became difficult and his arms and hands hurt.

Steve stepped in front of him again and grinned gloating. The man slipped gloves with sharp, metallic things on. Then the beating started.   
Three punches in his face and the sharp devices ripped his cheeks. Blood ran down his face. Then Steve hit his stomach and ribs. Again and again and again. 

This seemed to go on for hours. At some point the leader must have closed his camera, but the beating didn’t stop. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he gasped and groaned with every hit.

Steve seemed to get tired of this whole situation and he swapped with one of the twins.

 

It was all getting to much. Every two minutes they would lift him up for a few seconds, took the strain of his arms and shoulders, so that he could get a few painful breathes until they dropped him again and the hitting continued.

He hasn’t eaten for a few days and the few drops of waters they forced him to drink every hour wasn’t helping much. Sherlock couldn’t hold his head up anymore and just let his chin rest on chest. God, he was so tired, but they didn’t let him rest, played way to loud music and the too bright light hurt his eyes. 

This all reminded him so much of Serbia, of his time away, always hiding, always running, always alone. No John, like now.

 

Finally they cut him loose. He wasn’t able to stand anymore, so their sweaty, disgusting hands were wrapped around his hips and pulled him through the door he tried to escape days or hours before and outside.

The clean, cold air woke him a bit up again, which he was grateful for. They were right beside the Themse. Apparently the drug group hide in one of the many containers. Not a brilliant hiding place, since about ten police man and woman from Scotland Yard were already standing in front of them. Sherlock could sense Mycroft behind the man, who leaned against one of his ridiculous car.

A man with a drawn weapon stepped in front of the officers, right next to a worried looking Detective Lestrade. It was a very angry and also tired John Watson.

„Let him go now and I will let you live.” ,the army soldier growled. Sherlock was about to cry when he heard his lovers voice. After this long martyrdom, he was bleeding, hurting, tired, sleep-deprived and malnourished. The detective just wanted to cuddle with John on their coach.

The leader grabbed his still arms and dragged him to the edge. Behind them was the dark and cold looking river.  
The man pulled his gun out and aimed with the weapon at Sherlock’s bloody head. 

„If you want him, you can fetch him!“

The last thing Sherlock heard before they both fell into the abyss was John’s pained cry.

 

 

 

The rest you already know. The gang had him for nearly five days and for christmas he was feeling a bit better already, thanks to John’s tender care.   
On the 24th December he was lying on their sofa, back supported with pillows, a (orange) blanket on his knees to keep him warm. John squeezed his shoulder and gave him a glass of his favourite wine, then the doctor arched his back and whispered into his detective’s ear: „I am so glad you are back, love.“ John kissed his cheek.

To Sherlock’s embarrassment Lestrade and Molly, who sat on John’s armchair, Molly on his lap, both snickered and Lestrade made awkward kiss noises.   
Sherlock groaned and hid his red face in his blanket, but John only laughed and kissed him again. When Mrs Hudson came in, wearing her precious antlers, the evening was complete.

Sherlock couldn’t remember when he ever feel so content in his life. His friends, and yes, he has friends, were around him, celebrating christmas. He was in John Watson’s arms.

Best christmas ever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas or whatever you are celebrating or not celebrating! Have a wonderful day. I'm sooooo looking forward to The Abomiable Bride <3 !


End file.
